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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067771">When It Works</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/pseuds/Cat2000'>Cat2000</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Spanking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 00:15:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,487</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/pseuds/Cat2000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from the television series Prodigal Son and I’m not making any money from this fic</p><p>Summary: Follows Sometimes I Need…. Malcolm goes back to Dr. Coppenrath, with his journal, the following week</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When It Works</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers up to and including season one episode 12: Internal Affairs; references to violence; discussion of trauma; AU</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’ve decorated.” Malcolm stood in the middle of Dr. Coppenrath’s cell, looking around at the soft, muted pictures that were attached to the walls. He carried his new journal tucked under his arm and leaned casually against the cell door.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a safe space. You might be my only patient, but since I was fairly sure you’d be coming back, I wanted to make it as comfortable as possible.” Dr. Coppenrath was sitting in the chair in front of the computer once more. He nodded to the cushioned chair that had been placed next to the bed. “Have a seat.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t we moving to the bed?” Malcolm set his pack down. “I brought several implements with me. You can’t get anything brought here into the cell, but I’ve got most of what you’ll need. Except a birch. I might have to order that in specially,” he rambled.</p><p> </p><p>“Implements?” The doctor raised his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>“I slept <em>really</em> well after our last session. Actually got five hours of sleep.” Malcolm grinned. “I figured, if a little bit of pain and discomfort helped that much, more pain would be <em>really</em> helpful.” He placed his journal on the floor next to the pack, the black cover facing the ceiling, and opened the pack, beginning to pull out the implements he’d packed inside. “I’ve got a hairbrush, paddle, belt, wooden spoon, slipper, cane….” He took out each implement as he named them.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm looked up at the doctor. “That’s all of them. Do you have a preference? Maybe you want to try using each of them. Maybe, I don’t know, two swats of each? See which one works best.”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Coppenrath sighed. “That’s not what this kind of therapy is about, Malcolm.”</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t exactly on the level,” Malcolm commented. “If you’re worried about consequences, I’m not going to complain. And even if it’s not normal to progress, it’s going to help me if we go to the next step as soon as possible.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sit down.” Dr. Coppenrath nodded towards the chair. “Hand me the journal first,” he added.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm picked up the journal and handed it to the doctor, then walked over to the chair and sat down. “I guess some of those implements, it might be easier for me to bend over something. So I can do that over this…or the bed. Or maybe grab my ankles or knees? That’s what they did in schools, after all. According to the reports I read.”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Coppenrath looked up from flicking through the journal and frowned. “You’ve been researching this?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm nodded quickly. “There’s a huge amount of history behind corporal punishment. You know that’s where the phrase kissing the gunner’s daughter comes from, right? Sailors, mostly cabin boys, who were too young to be flogged were bound across the cannon and strapped.”</p><p> </p><p>“Malcolm.” Dr. Coppenrath’s voice broke into the ramble. “It concerns me that you’re equating this to corporal punishment. It isn’t about punishment.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why can’t it be both?” Malcolm leaned forward slightly, staring into the doctor’s eyes. “Therapy and punishment?” He swallowed. “There’s a lot of things I’m guilty of.”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Coppenrath shook his head. “You <em>feel</em> guilty about a lot of things, Malcolm. Very few of them are what you’re actually responsible for.”</p><p> </p><p>“The girl in the box,” Malcolm murmured.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor frowned. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You must have seen my mother’s speech to the press. About the Surgeon’s extra victim.” Malcolm breathed in deeply. “I found her. When I was ten years old. Like I said to you. I buried a lot of memories that are coming out. And I see her. The girl the Surgeon, my father, took. Her body was never found. I could have saved her. If I’d acted sooner.” He stared at his hands, quickly covering the trembling one with his other hand.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Coppenrath leaned forward slightly. “It’s a horrible thing that happened, but you were a child. And you did call the police on your father. That takes a lot of courage.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should have known what was going on long before. I should have figured it <em>out</em> long before.” Malcolm shook his head and slanted a pleading look at Dr. Coppenrath. “You can see what I noted about the effects the first day. How well I slept. I don’t enjoy pain, despite what my actions might indicated.”</p><p> </p><p>The doctor shook his head and sighed. “The spanking therapy is about providing a safe release for emotions. It isn’t about punishment. That’s not my place to give it to you. If you’re looking for punishment, you need to speak to someone with a personal connection to you. Someone who’s been affected negatively by actions you’ve taken.”</p><p> </p><p>“Someone like Gil.” Malcolm looked down at his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve mentioned him a few times in your journal.” Dr. Coppenrath nodded. “He’s the father you wish you had. If you feel a need for punishment, speaking to him is the best decision you can make.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you want me to put the implements away?” Malcolm glanced at the scattered objects he’d left on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“You can take them with you when your session finishes.” Dr. Coppenrath put the journal to one side. “I can see that our last session was helpful to you, but today will be a repeat of last time. You won’t be bending over anything. And I won’t be using any of those implements on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Malcolm moved over to the bed, sat down and waited.</p><p> </p><p>The doctor stood and walked over to sit next to Malcolm. Then, he waited.</p><p> </p><p>The pants were easy to unzip and push down and Malcolm didn’t hesitate to push his underwear down to join them. He moved forward and settled in place over the doctor’s lap, shifting enough to make himself as comfortable as possible.</p><p> </p><p>The first firm smack was delivered when Malcolm’s squirming ceased and echoed through the room. Almost before the ringing from the first smack faded, the second was delivered, at the same force. And then two more landed just below the first two, high enough to overlap with the sting from the first two smacks.</p><p> </p><p>The swats weren’t unbearably hard, but the cumulative effect very quickly built up into a sting. Malcolm’s breath came out in a sharp gasp when Dr. Coppenrath’s hand swatted his sit spots and the more sensitive skin at the tops of his thighs.</p><p> </p><p>As the doctor began to deliver a second circuit of smacks, Malcolm breathed in deeply and let himself slump in position. Once again, the smacks weren’t unbearably painful. But they were repetitive and the sting began to merge into a burn. Tears began to fill his eyes and he rapidly blinked to stop them from falling.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Find me.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’m trying.” Malcolm muttered the words to the hallucination that had appeared, staring at him with accusing eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you seeing her?” Dr. Coppenrath asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Malcolm drew in a deep breath and let it out in a quiet whine before giving a light kick of one leg.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me what she looks like.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm breathed in deeply, staring at the apparition. His voice seemed to come from very far away as he spoke, the words accompanied by the firm smack of bare skin against bare skin. “She’s been trapped for a long time. It shows. Clothes are ragged and dirty. Hair greasy and stringy. Skin showing cuts and bruises. She wants me to find her, but <em>I can’t</em>.” As he said the words, as his bottom burned from the smacks, the hallucination faded.</p><p> </p><p>“You feel responsible for no one knowing she existed.”</p><p> </p><p>“She existed,” Malcolm whispered. “<em>I</em> know she existed.”</p><p> </p><p>“But no one believed you.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm nodded. Tears falling down his cheeks, he whispered, “I was convinced I’d made her up <em>for so long</em>. It’s why she keeps appearing to me now. I failed her. She doesn’t even have a name.”</p><p> </p><p>“And it’s important to you that you find her.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>So</em> important.” Malcolm’s body slumped and he let out a quiet sob.</p><p> </p><p>The spanking stopped and Dr. Coppenrath rubbed Malcolm’s back. “Between now and next week’s session, I want you to record in your journal every hallucination you see. Where and when do they appear? Who or what do you see? Do they speak to you? What do they say?”</p><p> </p><p>“And bring the journal with me the next time.” Malcolm breathed in deeply and then slowly pushed himself up off the doctor’s lap. He pulled his clothing back into place and then gave his burning backside a rub through his pants. He walked over to the implements he’d left scattered on the floor and began packing them away.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Coppenrath stood up and held his hand out to shake Malcolm’s. “I’ll see you next week. <em>Without</em> those implements.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” As Malcolm turned to bang on the door, he decided…if his new therapist couldn’t help him with his guilt, he’d ask Gil.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">The End</span>
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